Masquerade
by CapturetheFinnick
Summary: Dan goes to a school for spies, he's not supposed to be seen. And usually he isn't, he just fades into the crowd. Except one day someone sees him, actually sees him and not just his cover. Phan. Fluff. (some swearing)
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay I don't really like this one, but hopefully it's not too bad? **_

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><p><span><em><strong>Masquerade<strong>_

"Alright" The voice rang out, cutting through the air. The wind whipped once more, grabbing the last bit of the word and taking it for itself. Dan pulled his coat around himself, but it wasn't _his_ coat. Those weren't his shoes either, that wasn't his shirt, and those definitely were not his glasses. It was all just a costume, _a disguise, _clothes picked with an aim in mind. To blend in, to become your surroundings, to be as plain as the day around you. Dan was already a natural at being plain, his hair a patent sort of brown, with eyes to match, his features proportional and unpretentious, it wasn't the sort of face you looked at twice. "Task is simple, each of you will tail one person, find out the three things we want you to, and be back by 4'o clock." His eyes glanced over our small group, connecting with mine briefly before flitting away again. "Any questions?" his voice seemed firm, final. Ben's hand went up, he was a shy boy, or as shy as you can be here, with sandy blonde hair. He got picked on a lot, sometimes Dan could hear his small shaky cries through the vents in his room. The academy didn't believe in secrets, if you had something to say, you could say it in front of everyone, or not at all. Didn't stop Dan feeling sorry for him though. "Umm sir?"  
>"Yes, Benjamin?" And even from a distance Dan could see the eye roll, hear the little outbreaks of laughter. "How do we know which person to tail?"<br>"You don't." he said curtly, "but it may become obvious to some of you."

And that was that, he finished speaking and they split up. The theme park was busy that day, rollercoasters racing above, whipping wind into Dan's hair, screams of both delight and terror filling Dan's ears, queues stretching all around him, excited chatter and nervous dread strutting around the air, fusing with the sickening sweet scent of candyfloss and popcorn and something else, too, something which Dan couldn't quite put his finger on. People pushed past Dan, shoving him in all directions like he was the pinball in the machine. Dan didn't like it. Could barely even see the appeal. People were obsessed with seeking thrills, so desperately trying to reach for a life that's not boring. But boring was what Dan needed to be, mediocre, middle of the road, he needed no one to look at him and take a second glance, because the outcomes could be dangerous.

Dan had to remind himself to focus, to cast away all the noises and scents and concentrate on the task in hand. It wasn't easy. Dan had been trained to see everything, to notice the tiny details as they passed him by, to take in every bit of information and assess the situation. His eyes hooked on a red balloon, floating through the air and into space, they darted back to the ground to notice a crying child, tears streaming down its face. Focus Dan, he told himself but it was much too loud. He stopped, seemingly consumed by the crowd as people weaved around him. There. He saw it. A tiny little rope ladder leading to a platform built on one of the trees. It had all sorts of spotlights and wires attached, probably floodlighting for at night. His eyes scanned the ground but there was no-one guarding it, it was all for the taking.

He set off, walking leisurely despite his time limit. Nobody must notice him. It was drilled into his head. Dan went to a school for spies, he didn't remember a life before it. Instead of footballs, he had had night vision goggles, instead of action figures, a gps tracker. He hadn't even known these things weren't normal until a few years ago, in fact he still didn't understand the purpose of play dough. For all intents and purposes, Northern Academy Boarding School for Brilliant Boys felt like a home to him. And his cover as a rich, spoilt boy had always come quite easily. Because he didn't get in on accident, he came from a lineage of spies, all of which had gone to the school before him. Field work, it would seem, was his calling. His parents both worked high up in MI5, it was destined and Dan wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. Some days, he was thrilled, a life of excitement! Of experiences beyond compare! Some days could barely wait to graduate and get out there, and some days it scared him, he wanted options, he wanted to be in the catchment area for a good school, with a little ford fiat and a family cat.

He was almost at the top of the ladder now. It was made of rope, with rungs of wood and it swung in the breeze. Dan clung on, his feet steady, he had always had good balance. Finally he reached the top, stretching out his hand and clutching onto a branch, pulling himself up. He sat down, with his back against the trunk. He was actually in the tree, he could see for miles.

Up there, the people seemed less intimidating. Colours; that was all they were, just a sea of colours interweaving around each other. Dan had to focus now. His eyes bore down like a god from above. But everyone looked so normal, who was he supposed to tail? The woman pushing the pram? The man buying a churro? The person dressed in a clown's suit? And then he spotted him. A man, with blindingly blonde hair and skin as pale as a ghost. Dan was certain that he had seen that very man, less than ten minutes ago, dressed in a trench coat and black boots, and yet now here he was in a football top and jeans. Did this mean he was the target? A line of speech drifted back into Dan's head, "Do something suspicious once, it's probably just an accident, twice and you should be wary, three times and it's a suspect."

The man moved around for the next hour, never getting on any rides, drifting around from stall to stall as if he had no need to be there. In fact, he seemed to be wandering in a kind of pattern, from the churro store to the candyfloss place, right over to the coconut shy and then he looped back round again. Sometimes, he would go to stalls and queue, only to get near the front and then leave the queue again. In that time, he had changed clothes twice more, his hair had even switched direction. He was definitely the man. Now, what was the fake information the school had set up for him to find out? He sighed, he would have to go down to the ground and tail him from there. He really was enjoying sitting up in the air, feeling the breeze on his face and just sitting down for the first time in months.

He shuffled along the platform so that he could descend the ladder. Except the ladder was already swinging, someone was already coming up it. "Hey," a voice called up the ladder, "don't mind if I join you, do you?" It was a little too late, Dan thought, seen as he was already half way up, the rope swinging as his hands and feet scurried upwards. "Umm, I'm not sure people are supposed to be up here."  
>The boy laughed, "Well how come you're up here then?" Dan could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "I work at the circus, my dad owns the coconut shy." Dan lied, his voice smooth, without any indication that it wasn't the truth. "Impossible." The boy stated, his hand grabbing onto the platform. "Why?"<br>"Because _my_ dad owns the coconut shy." the boy flicked his eyebrows up, as if to say 'I win.' The boy was tall and gangly, his body looked as if it had been stretched out just a little too far. His hair was a dyed black, Dan didn't need to be a spy to know that, and his eyes were the most beautiful things Dan had ever seen. It was as if they were three colours, all at once, like a sea of blue dotted with green seaweed and yellow sand. The boy coughed awkwardly and Dan realised he had been staring just a little too long. "So why are you here then?" The boy said, shifting his body so that his long legs could hang off the edge of the platform. "Just wanted to get away from all the people." Dan didn't know where that answer came from. The boy nodded, sympathetically, "I get it, I'm here nearly every day with my dad over the summer, and if you think it's hectic now, you have absolutely no idea, in fact this is sort of my spot, to get away from it all."  
>"Oh, sorry." Dan didn't quite know what to say, interrogation he could deal with, planting bugs, tailing people, making deductions from their trash, were all things he knew how to do, talking to a cute boy? Not so much. Wait, did he just refer to him as cute, Dan shook his head. It appeared to Dan that the boy had been talking, and he hadn't heard a word that he had said. "Yeah, yeah."<br>"Yeah, yeah? Were you even listening?" the boy said, his mouth breaking out into a smile, and Dan was sure right then and there, that the boy had magical qualities. He blushed, tilting his head down slightly "Umm, no, sorry?" the boy laughed,  
>"I <em>said, <em>my name's Phil, what's yours"  
>"Oh. My name's Dan." Dan internally kicked himself, why didn't he use a cover name? Years and years of tuition down the drain because of one boy's cute smile. 'Cute' there it was again. Is that really what he thought? Apparently so. It was silent for a little bit, Dan still trying to recover from his mistake. "Top five favourite films?" Phil blurted out, his eyelids fluttering slightly.<br>"What?"  
>"What are your top five favourite films?"<br>"Why?"  
>"I'd like to know."<br>"We're not going to see each other ever again." Phil pouted,  
>"We're not?"<br>"Are we?"  
>"I'd like to." Phil paused, looking upwards as if he were considering something, "in fact, here, I'll give you my number." and before Dan could refuse, Phil had whipped a pen from his pocket and was scrawling various digits across the back of his hand. He smiled, "There. Now you have to tell me your five favourite films, it's only fair." Dan laughed,<br>"Okay then. Hmm let me think." The truth was that Dan loved films, loved capturing himself in another moment, another person's life that was always so vastly different from his, but he didn't have a lot of time. He had watched all the classic 'spy films' as a child with his parents but other than that he had had to watch them in secret, on a tiny portable DVD player that he had bought from Japan when he went with his parents last year. Ever since then he had been secretly buying DVDs, it was his form of escapism. "The breakfast club would definitely have to be one, umm this is hard, oh Beetlejuice and err Slumdog millionaire, we need to talk about Kevin and err the perks of being a wallflower." He said shyly, he didn't usually discuss his interests with anyone. In fact he rarely talked about anything except school and work and old spy legends and gossip. It felt good to talk about something so aggressively mundane. He looked up from the floor, to see Phil smiling.

Before Dan knew it, it had gotten to half three and he still hadn't left the platform, in fact he had forgotten about his mission all together, swapped it for smiles and laughter and conversation. He hadn't even realised how much he had yearned friendship until that moment. Dan's eyes caught on his watch, "fuck!" he exclaimed, the time reflecting in his eyes.  
>"What?"<br>"I really have to go, I'm err already late for doing something."  
>"Do you really have to go?"<br>"Yes, yes, I'm sorry." He said making his way to the edge of the platform and swinging onto the rope ladder. "Aww, please stay." He stopped for a minute, taking in Phil's face. He really, really didn't want to go. "I'll call you later okay?"  
>"Okay." Phil said, his lips stretching into a smile, "I look forward to it." Dan felt dazed as he climbed down the ladder, at what point had his life become a film?<p>

He had no time and he knew it, in fact he had lost sight of the man all together. He could have dyed his hair and adopted glasses in the time Dan had been up there, what the hell had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking, that was for sure. Dan pushed through the crowds, not being very subtle at all, but he couldn't find the man. Fuck, he thought again, he was going to fail. He wasn't used to failure. He stopped dead still, causing people to run into the back of him and curse loudly. He tried to remember everything he had seen before. He pictured the man, throwing balls at the coconut shy, something was odd about the image and Dan knew it. He forced the action to run through his mind, again and again and again. What was it? And then Dan knew, the man was left handed, and yet the bulge in his coat pocket had been on the right side, suggesting that whatever was in the pocket, wasn't something that he was going to take out and use but rather something he was going to give to something else. Dan focused harder. When he had swapped the coat, the bulge had gone, hadn't it? Implying that he gave the object away inside the coat to avoid suspicion, but what was it? Dan didn't know, he didn't know and the clock was nearing four. That's all he had, he would have to fail.

He got back to the meeting point, just in time, slamming into the back end of the line. Mr Callidum was already there. His eyes glared at Dan, before his voice boomed, "Now who here got all three pieces of information?" Dan's palms sweated. He looked around him, a few hands went in the air, but not nearly as many as he had expected. Mr Cal scanned the crowd and stayed silent for a while, "do these people look familiar?" he said, motioning to the people walking towards him. Dan's mouth dropped open, amongst the crowd of people was Phil, who raised his hand and waved shyly. "Class, meet your distractions, fresh from Augustine School for the Arts of Espionage" His mouth curved into a tiny smirk. He could speak fifteen languages, recite over a hundred criminal acts, and he knew exactly where to hit a man to make them unconscious with causing harm, and yet he had been fooled by an attractive teenage boy in skinny jeans.

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><p><em><strong>Okay so this was based upon a scene from a book called 'Cross my heart and hope to spy' which is from a series that I was obsessed with when I was eleven (it's still kinda good ssh) hope you liked it :) Thank you for reading and please review :)<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Masquerade Part Two**_

The corridor was bursting full of people. Tall boys, short boys, older boys stood in the corner, rolling their eyes at the younger boys with their obsessively high backpacks and ever enthusiastic glowing eyes that hadn't yet had the light knocked out of them. The chatter surrounding him was immense, like a chorus of nature, except made more acute by the fact that everyone was speaking in different languages. It wasn't weird to Dan though, it was common place to hear students discussing 'Johnlock' in Russian, or the last episode of great British bake off in Finnish.

Dan stood on the final step of the spiral staircase, gazing into the television room. There was only one room in the academy in which it was permitted to watch films or television. There were old battered sofas and bright beanbags, all pointed towards a widescreen television. It seemed like a great idea, except the programmes were usually ruled by popular choice and so Dan was left to watch his 'girly crap' in his room, all alone. He couldn't complain though, up until last year the academy had had an analogue TV that crackled and was prone to shutting off at random moments until you hit it hard with a shoe. Dan sighed, looking over the chaos of the corridor from the stairs. He would have to dive into the sea of people at some point anyway, it might as well be now, and he didn't want to be late for his 'world geography' class. Dan sighed, or maybe he did. Dan pushed his way through, people banging against him as if he were going against the tide. Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting lineage and history, dating back to the man who founded the school, way back in 1939. Famous inventions stood in glass cases along the walls, showcasing the first electronic pens, which were attached to a wire, which had to be hidden in your sleeve. It seemed so obvious to Dan as he was walking down the hall that this was a spy school, and yet he knew that it could be changed in a few minutes, the tapestries shooting up and hiding in the ceiling, the glass cases pulled back into the walls, even the posters showing you 'how to write a good plan' or '5 things you can do to spot a tail.' could be spun round to reveal posters about healthy eating or algebra. It could all go. Dan knew all of this, he could see all of this, all the rich history and beauty, and yet all he could think about was Phil.

Phil, with his sculpted cheekbones and fitted, black, skinny jeans. Phil with his gleaming black hair and floppy fringe. Phil with his half smirk and blushful cheeks, with his freckles and his shining eyes that hung onto your every word, with his tongue that stuck out slightly when he laughed and his shy look as he gazed through his eyelashes. Phil. Was it all just an act?

Dan almost walked into the wall at the end of the corridor, gaining a few strange looks from the people surrounding him. He really needed to get this under control. Phil was acting! He told himself, you will never ever see him ever again! He took a deep breath and stooped under the exceptionally low door way that led to his world geography class.

Looking up from the ground, he saw that the class was already full. Shit, he cursed under his breath. Mr Branham's eyes dragged slowly upwards from the desk, landing on Dan with a stern sort of glare. "You're late." He said curtly, his voice nearing on spitting hatred. He already didn't like Dan. He didn't like his sarcastic humour or witty attitude, he wasn't a fan of his eye rolls or sly comments. "I got lost." Dan said, raising an eyebrow as if to test him. "Very funny." Mr Branham drawled out, his accent Scottish and thick, "This is your fifth year Mr Howell and I suggest you buck up your ideas if you plan on staying here for a sixth. Now sit down." He pointed a chubby finger in the direction of the desk Dan usually sat at, his silver-white eyebrows looking as if they might jump off of his face.

Dan turned on his heel, heading towards his desk. He didn't know why he always did it, he really didn't, and there was no need for him to aggravate teachers. Maybe he was just bored, maybe he needed stimulation, maybe deep down he just had a desperate need for people to like him.

Enzo, Dan's best friend, looked up from the desk, shuffling forward slightly to let Dan in, a secret smile coating his face. "Was that really necessary?" he said, his slight accent giving away his heritage. Enzo was Mexican, his skin golden and his hair a deep brown. He looked similar to Dan, Dan's skin only a tiny bit lighter, in fact he and Dan had always joked that they must be related somehow. Dan shrugged his shoulders "just trying to lighten the mood."

Dan wasn't popular per say, but he was well-liked, by teachers and students alike. He got good grades without ever having to try that hard, and was always there with some form of a joke to make the classroom a little brighter. He didn't have too many friends, but in a year group so small, everyone was linked in some sort of way. In fact, it seemed like the only person who didn't like him was the man stood at the front of the class, in a tight, blue, sweater vest and a grey tweed jacket. "We will start today will a quiz on the physical features of Moldova, so I hope all of you prepared." The class let out a collective groan.

Dan didn't know why they had to do world geography. He had been told time and time again that it was important to know the surroundings if you're on a mission. But it seemed to him that if he got lost in Moldova, knowing that mount Dealul Bălăneşti's peak is 428 metres tall was not going to help him very much. He stared down at his paper, twiddling his pen in his fingers whilst resting his chin on his other hand.

Dan was bored, his eyelids threatening to flutter shut. He had been up late last night trying to finish an assessment analysing the famous covert mission of 1959, in which a pin had fallen from an agent's hair and extinguished the whole mission. That sentence alone was more exciting than the entire class. 'World Geography' Dan couldn't even make it to the end of the sentence without feeling tired. A sharp knock came at the door, pushing Dan's eyelids open and pulling his chin out of his hand, which was in danger of pushing his elbow off the end of the table. Mr Branham looked just as surprised as everyone else.

The door was pushed open, slowly, almost hesitantly. And there was Mrs Prueitt, the academy's secretary, a crowd of students behind her. Everyone leaned forward, their desks edging closer to the front, trying to see out of the door. For a school for spies, exciting things rarely happened. "Sit back down!" Mr Branham shouted, shooting a glance,  
>"Hello Mrs Prueitt, what can I do for you?"<br>"I have the students here, sir."  
>"The students?"<br>"The exchange students' sir, the ones from Augustine." Augustine. Why did that sound so familiar to Dan? Where had he heard it from? The students piled through the door, gathering at the front of the classroom. And then he knew. Because Phil Lester stood among them.

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><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading and please review :) For anyone who is wondering, the next chapter of sharpest lives will be up asap :)<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far; witbeyondmeasurexox, guest, it's-real-to-us and okayintatarus hope you enjoy;**_

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><p>"What are you doing here?" Dan hissed.<br>"What?" Phil smirked, "Scared I'll outshine you Howell?" Dan's face fell, his chair teetering on two legs as he leaned backwards to see Phil on the desk behind him. "No." he paused, unsure of what else to say. And Phil could see it. He raised his eyebrow almost mockingly. "Don't you have your own school to go to?" Dan whispered under his breath.  
>"Daniel Howell!" Mr Branham shouted, "These students are guests in our school, treat them with some manners." He paused, glaring until Dan turned back around, his eyes on the desk. "<em>Now<em>, seen as you're so _clearly_ finished, would you kindly like to give everyone the answer?" Dan scowled, holding back a frustrated sigh. Dan could see Phil's smug face in the back of his mind as he began to reel of the answers.

Dan spent the rest of the lesson feeling Phil's eyes bearing into the back of his head. And it made him uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly sure what it was about him but something set him on edge. Something made the presence of Phil so obvious. He could hear his every move, every time he so much as dropped a pencil, he went tense. He was so _aware _of him behind him. And he didn't understand. There were other people in the classroom, plenty of other people, but his mind wasn't endlessly fixed on them. What made Phil special? His flirtatious attitude? His perfectly swept fringe? Dan could only guess.

The lesson dragged on, the hand of the clock trailing slower with each turn. Outside it was autumn, the trees beamed bitter orange, glowing through the window like the dying embers of a fire. The leaves outside were falling from the trees, swirling in the breeze, drifting and circling through the sky, brilliant flames against the bright blue sky. They were mocking Dan. They were free. They could fly. They could go wherever they wanted to, but most of all they didn't have to deal with the obnoxious son of a bitch Phil Lester.

The bell finally went, accompanied by the scraping of chairs and a chorus of chatter. Dan gathered his books together, shoving them into his bag hastily, wanting to leave the room as fast as humanly possible. He needed fresh air. He swung his bag onto his shoulder and headed for the doorway but something tapped his shoulder. A sense of dread breathed into his lungs. He span round, his face already fallen into a half-hearted sigh, he knew who to expect. Phil's face was lit up in a smirk, his eyes an even brighter blue than he remembered. "Hey," he said. What was going on?  
>"Err Hi?" Dan said questioningly.<br>"Can you show me where my next lesson is?"  
>"Playing the sweet boy now are we?" Dan spat, he'd had it with Phil. Dan had been trained to study people, he could pick them apart like they were a puzzle, his mind could work with people, look them over and make snap judgements, theories, and ideas. But no matter how hard he tried; he could not read Phil. And it infuriated him.<br>"Playing?" Phil said sweetly and Dan could have sworn that he saw him bat his eyelashes. Dan hated him. But oh god was he attractive. Dan shook himself out of his thoughts. "I'll tell you one thing though, Phil, you're one fine actor." Dan turned on his heel, heading out of the door and towards his next lesson; languages. He fumed silently, Phil made him so damn confused. It was like he hated him and lusted after him all at once. He clutched his bag to his chest. What was going on?

He heard footsteps rushing behind him, "Dan! Dan!" But Dan kept on walking. "Dan!"  
>"What?" he shouted, his voice louder than he had intended it to be. Loud enough that a fair few students turned to stare, making his cheeks blossom red just like the trees outside. He shot them a glance, a look that could kill, and it would as soon as they perfected death glare sunglasses. Rumours had it they were in the final stage of testing. "You're cute when you blush," Phil said lifting his hand to Dan's cheek. Dan's body was still as stone, a bored expression engraved into his face. But inside? Inside was a different story. Inside he was bursting into flames, like a phoenix about to be reincarnated. "Is that all you wanted?" he snapped bitterly. "Actually, no." Phil said with a smile, "I really <em>don't <em>know where my next class is."  
>"Show me your time table then." Dan sighed, holding out his left hand as if he were growing impatient. Truth is he could probably look at Phil all day without ever growing bored. Phil smiled, looking up through his eyelashes, a picture of beauty. It made it hard for Dan to keep up his angry facade.<p>

Phil rummaged through his bag, producing a very tattered piece of paper. Dan's eyes widened, "How on earth did you manage to get it this messy already?" Dan marvelled. "You've been here like an hour!" he turned it over in his hands. "I'm impressed." Phil grinned and the boy from the platform was back. "You're with me." Dan said.  
>"Must be fate." said Phil, taking the timetable back.<br>"Shut the fuck up." Dan muttered, but he blushed all the same.

They walked into the languages classroom, the bright colours hitting them at once. Posters jumped out from the walls, displays adorning every plain space. That was what Phil noticed first. In fact it took him a little longer than one would expect for a highly trained operative to notice that there were more than four walls. He tried to count mentally in his head but only got to seven before his thoughts were interrupted. "You're late." a voice stated, blankly.  
>"Yes, miss, I know but its Phil's first day and I was just trying to show him round." Dan said hurriedly, his voice stuttering just a little. The woman raised her eyebrows, before turning her head to me. She tried to cover her obvious discontent with a smile. Phil was not sure if it worked. "Welcome." She said, it looked forced, as if the cool metal of a gun was pressing against her temple. The woman was thin, her skin seemed like paper, as if all it would take was a little slice for it to cut right open. Her nose was smallish, and her eyes a somewhat faded version of blue, as if they had been in the wash one too many times. Her long blonde hair was turning white at the roots and it was bundled up onto her head, showing off her silver earrings, which seemed to swing as she talked. You could tell that she was pretty once, and she knew it, her makeup perfectly done, her lips coral and her eyes blackened ever so slightly, her hair delicately pinned and spilling down in a style that Phil had seen upon magazine covers sometimes. Phil wondered what it must be like to have such high expectations, such high standards. Whilst her structured face could come across as stern, it didn't, it seemed to glow with warmth. Maybe it was the smile. Her smile was like sugar, comforting for the moment, but too sweet after a while. Her voice was light and airy, ringing back down to earth. "Phil, was it? I assume you're from the exchange programme?" she said.<br>"Yes ma'am." Mrs Delaccey smiled slightly, her corners tilting upwards further, this time the smile seemed genuine. It was nice.  
>"Okay boys, there are some seats at the back." There was nothing really unusual about this conversation, Mrs Delaccey had a bit of a soft spot for Dan, letting him get away with 'murder' as his other classmates put it. I suppose the only unusual factor one could find about this conversation was the fact that it all took place in Farsi.<p>

Once Mrs Delaccey had finished speaking, and the class had settled down, Dan turned to Phil. "You speak Farsi? I'm impressed."  
>"I speak lots of languages." Phil said, his usual bragging tone returning.<br>"How many?"  
>"24." He said proudly, rocking back on his chair slightly, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he smirked. "Ha!" Dan said.<br>"What?" Phil's chair rested back on the floor again, a more settled expression resting on his face.  
>"25! I win!" Dan shouted, just a little too loud, causing Delaccey to look up from her desk. Phil scowled. "Not used to losing huh, <em>Lester."<em> Dan said, mocking Phil from before. The scowl dropped from Phil's face, "I don't mind losing to _cute_ boys." This time Dan had to turn his face away, he was blushing too much. He was about to say something else but Mrs Delaccey started talking again. A debate was to happen. Persian politics. What a riot.

Phil left hurriedly after languages, quickly packing things into his bag. One minute he was there and the next Dan saw the door slam shut behind him. He couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had no idea why it mattered, he was usually alone anyway. It wasn't as if anything had been taken away from him. What had he done? Had he upset Phil? Did Phil just not like him? Dan overthought everything, his mind spiralling and spiralling. Once or twice he walked into year sevens, their tiny heads poking into his chest, Dan able to catch a quick look of the fear on their faces before they hurried away. He was definitely just overthinking it. Phil probably went to the bathroom for god's sake.

The day poured away like water down a sink. Phil was in all of his lessons, Dan had seen that from his timetable and yet he never showed his face. Not once. Dan was beginning to miss it. Even his fucking cocked eyebrow.

The final bell went and Dan had grew heavier, not just from the extra books in his bag, but his mind seemed heavier too, his mood weighing him down more than a few bits of paper ever could. It hadn't been a good day. It was rarely a good day. He just wanted to get back to his room and bury his head in his pillow. His head was down and his pace slow, he couldn't muster enough energy to push past the infuriately slow walkers. A hand poked him from behind and he whipped around, hoping to see blue eyes and black hair. But no such luck. It was Enzo. Enzo. He'd been so wrapped up in Phil that he had forgotten completely about Enzo; his best friend. A sinking feeling shot into his stomach, pushing him down further than before. Dan felt bad. "Where've you been all day?" Enzo said chirpily, but Dan could tell he was upset. "I had to show that new guy round."  
>"Who the one with the black hair?" Enzo said walking away, urging Dan to follow him. They walked along the corridors, the same way they had walked a thousand times and Dan's spirits raised a little. "Yeah."<br>"How come you know him?"  
>"Oh, you remember that operation we did for 'stine."<br>"Clandestine arts?"  
>"No one calls it that, Enzo." Dan said laughing.<br>"Just clarifying," he knocked into Dan, giggling.  
>"Yeah that one, Mr Cal's class."<br>"What about it."  
>"That's where I know him from! He was my distraction." Enzo paused, before turning to look at Dan, a smirk nudging at the corners of his mouth, "He knows you <em>so<em> well."  
>"Who does?"<br>"Mr Cal," Enzo said, stressing the words.  
>"What? Why do you say that?" Dan's brow furrowed in confusion.<br>"Phil." He paused, as if it was obvious "he's exactly your taste. Perfect distraction if you ask me." Dan didn't hide the fact that he was gay, and it wasn't usually a problem, most people just accepted it, after all they had more important things to worry about; like dying, and coursework. Dan pushed Enzo, and he stumbled. "What?" he said grinning.  
>"He's not my taste."<br>"Come on."  
>"I don't think of him like that."<br>"Tall. Dark. Mysterious. Slightly obnoxious. He's exactly like Matthew and you know it."  
>"Yes and how well did that turn out?"<br>"Well…" they reached the door, Enzo reaching out to turn the doorknob and Dan flicking on the lights. They shared a dorm room. Always had, from the first day they met, eyes bright and faces round. From the first time they had set eyes upon each other. Dan had got there first, throwing his stuff across the bed and lying down, and that was how Enzo had found him, splayed out like a starfish. Dan still remembered the exact first words Enzo had ever spoken to him; "Guess you've claimed the best bed then?" It had blossomed from there. Always just them.

The room looked slightly different as they walked in, their eyes immediately sensing something different. There was another bed, and on that bed was slung a bag, and next to that bag sat a boy, his smile wide and his eyes bright. Phil Lester. That boy was fucking everywhere.

"Err Hi?" Enzo said, his eyes falling on Phil.  
>"Hey" Phil said, going back to look at his phone. "Do you not get <em>any <em>signal here?" Dan turned to look at Enzo, he looked pissed. In fact Dan was a little pissed himself. "This is an ancient school, our forefathers built it and it has carried on great tradition for _centuries_!" Phil did not even look up from his phone. Enzo grew madder. "So I'm sorry if there's not enough fucking signal for you, your highness."  
>"Whoa, calm down. Didn't mean to make you mad." And there it was again, that smile, the one that made Dan want to melt into a puddle onto the floor. The one that made everything excusable. The one that was more lethal than any other weapon in the school. "That's MY bed." Enzo spat. Phil looked apologetic, actually apologetic. "Err sorry. I'll err move." Stuttering, actual stuttering. From Phil Lester. Dan wondered how many sides Phil actually had. And how many of them were real. "Which bed is mine?" he asked, sheepishly.<br>"The one in the middle." Enzo said, "Look I'm sorry for snapping."  
>"It's fine." Phil smiled, "I was a dick."<br>"Let's start afresh," Enzo walked over to the middle bed where Phil was now sat. He extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Enzo, let's be friends."  
>"Sounds good to me." Phil said, laughing. But Dan could have sworn he saw an annoyed glance once Enzo had turned back around.<p>

It was all a bit overwhelming. He didn't know how to act around Phil. Phil smiled at him warmly, before looking back down at his phone. It was enough, Dan crossed back down to his bed, picking up his work from where it lay scattered on the bed. "I'm going to the common room, anyone want to come?" Enzo and Phil shook their heads, both claiming tiredness. Dan closed the door behind him, making a forced effort not to look back at Phil.

The moon shone through the window, casting shadows around the room. The curtains were drawn tight, their fabric blue and thick but somehow the light of the moon still managed to worm its way through, tickling at Dan's eyes. Dan had always been scared of the dark, scared of the shadows that moved at night, scared of the hand that could reach through darkness's cloak. He clutched his duvet closer around him. He couldn't sleep. It didn't help that it was cold, and the draft was wrapping itself around him, rather like a snake, completing him and making him shiver. It was completely silent. Or it was until Phil started talking. "Yeah I'm fine." His voice cut through the darkness, and without the light to show the truth, his voice seemed sinister. "Yeah in the room." Pause "A few weeks?" Pause "Oh it'll be good don't you worry." Dan smiled, the thought of a Phil feeling a tad homesick, strangely adorable. Phil was still talking, and Dan's eyelids were growing droopy, the darkness getting thicker until he fell from the room completely, into his own land.

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><p><em><strong>Thank you reading and please review :)<strong>_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Wow I didn't realise how many reviews the last chapter had until I just looked, thanks to its-real-to-us, Japanese Dolphin, guest, witbeyondmeasurexox, okayintatarus and velvolucci. This fic will be updated every two weeks on friday if anyone's interested (although I uploaded it earlier this week because I am going to London tomorrow and there isn't a queue feature like on tumblr) Anyway, here we go;**_

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><p>Blackness. Then Greyness. And then light. The most inferior part of the day; waking up.<p>

The duvet pulled taunt around Dan and its warmth seemed to beg him to stay, hugging his torso with its big arms. Dan rolled over, groaning. His eyes found Phil's bed, but the sheets were rumpled, the duvet hastily thrown over, not neatly made like they had been trained to do at Northern. Dan's eyes opened a little wider, sleep clinging to the corners of his tear ducts and the light filtering through to his corneas, making them burn just a little. Phil's shoes had gone, his bag too. Of course, that boy was nothing if not mysterious.

"Enzo!" Dan shouted, hearing the other boy grumble and smiling slightly. Dan was bad at mornings, but Enzo? Enzo wouldn't wake if a tsunami hit, and the room was slowly flooding with water. Dan got out of bed. He was kind of glad that Enzo wasn't a morning person, it gave him motivation to get out of bed. He enjoyed it far more than he probably should have, trying to wake Enzo, especially if he got to use the bucket. He hoped today was a bucket day.

It was just coming light outside, and if Dan wasn't feeling so drained maybe he would have stopped to appreciate it, the reds and oranges leaking across the sky like stray paint spilled across a wondrous creation. It was abstract. The kind of art than Dan liked. Or maybe if it wasn't so damn cold, although he supposed that was his fault for only wearing boxers to bed.

He grabbed his hat off the bedside table. It was possibly Dan's favourite possession, grey and fluffy with flaps to cover his ears. It was a present, given to him by his granddad, on a cold morning in south Newbury as the snow fluttered past the window. Dan loved spending Christmas with his grandparents, loved seeing a world in which the words 'neurolinguistics' and 'counterintelligence' didn't roll off the tongue. Although it always made him twisted inside because he could have that life, it was still within his grasp, he could still have the smell of pine wafting through the room, could still have a roaring fire, could still have tightly wrapped presents with little golden bows adorning them. He could still abandon a life of espionage. He could abandon his heritage. His head started to hurt and he felt his stomach churn just a little. It was too early for that kind of thought.

"Enzo!" he shouted again, but Enzo was out like a light. Dan sighed, taking steps towards Enzo's bed, he supposed he would have to start with trying to shake him awake.

A devilish and yet weary smile was beginning to crack across Dan's face. Then the door swung open and Dan's face dropped. He tore his eyes towards the door. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Dan looked desperately and hopelessly for any item of clothing he could quickly shove on to hide the fact that he was stood in the middle of his room with only the smallest piece of fabric to cover him.

"Oh" Dan heard the figure by the door exclaim. It was Phil. Of course it was fucking Phil. Who else would it be other than the annoying twat slash devilishly handsome intrigue that Dan had spent all evening thinking about? Dan's face flushed bright red. He couldn't meet his eyes, and instead tried to awkwardly drape his hands across his stomach. For a highly trained operative he was exceedingly insecure. Phil looked him up and down, letting his eyes drag slowly over his body. Dan shivered uncomfortably. He met the mesmerising seas that were Phil's eyes although today the sea was a little more choppy, the waves a little more sporadic; it made Dan sick to look at them. Phil raised his eyebrows,  
>"I was just going to ask you if you were coming to breakfast, but <em>obviously<em> you're not ready for the rest of the world just yet." He said with a wink and Dan melted internally, his cheeks deepening even redder than before. In fact his cheeks had grown so red that you could probably fry an egg from the heat.

The door shut and he buried his face in his hands. He didn't think he could ever move again. It was silent. And then he heard the rustling of sheets and the slight creak of a bedframe. Enzo rolled over,  
>"Well that was awkward." Dan felt like dropping to the floor. Of course. Of. Fucking. Course. The boy could sleep through a blasted hurricane but as soon as Dan was caught half naked by the guy he sort of liked, he woke up.<p>

"You have to eat breakfast!" Enzo practically pushed Dan into the breakfast hall, his uniform hastily shoved on and his hair not remotely close to straight, just like him really.  
>"I don't want to see him!"<br>"He's probably already eaten." Enzo said, stifling a giggle behind his hand, "I can't believe you just stood there!"  
>"What was I supposed to do?" Enzo only laughed,<br>"Look," he said, scanning the room, "I told you, he'd not even here." Dan looked up from the speckled floorboards of the dining room floor, Enzo was right. Phil was nowhere to be seen. Where exactly did that boy disappear to all the time anyway?

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to avoid the small glances of people who had noticed Dan's little scene on the way in. He shook it off, striding down the aisle. The dining hall was long and wide, the walls tall and decorated with spiralling wooden patterns. The windows were high, the sun shining through the glass like the arms of angels or fairies. Three long tables ran down the middle of the hall, their benches littered with various students and their tops decorated with various lanterns that would be turned on when the day grew dark. The lanterns were a particular favourite of Dan's, built like miniature version of the kinds of lamps you might find in Victorian England, they were quirky and unusual, just like the school itself. But there was no doubt that the ceiling was the main attraction, it swooped above in thickset in stone, arched with the two conjoined hands carved into the roof.

Dan had stopped noticing things like this a while ago, the high glass windows and benches no longer a big deal for him. But the carving was still beautiful, two hands, the only thing that didn't change during a code red, the only thing that remained when the school transformed itself for the mundane eye. To the outsider it just looked like two people holding hands, a symbol for unity maybe, or acceptance. But Dan knew better. Everyone in the room did in fact. The symbol was a brush sweep, one operative passing a piece of information to another. Dan guessed, in a way, it did symbolise unity. Although spies weren't a particularly close bunch. Too high of a body count. Relationships were mostly functional, affection made people do stupid things, great things, but stupid all the same. There was no place for it there. Dan knew that and, yet, as he was queueing up for his pain au chocolat and orange juice, that same expression kept leaking into his mind. Those blue eyes filled with judgement but also something more. Something that Dan secretly hoped was a glint of arousal.

Dan was late. Again. Dan couldn't remember a time when he wasn't late for something, when his feet weren't walking double time, where a little gear wasn't turning in his mind, telling him to hurry. He didn't know where Enzo had gone, he seemed to have lost him somewhere in the crowd, but the crowds had cleared now and yet Dan was still there.

There was something beautiful about an empty corridor. Something alluring about something which main function was to hold people completely vacant. It reminded Dan of days on the roof, just him and the sky, just him in all of the world. People complain about overpopulation, but they can't see past the statistics. The world does not belong to humans. Any fool can see that, humans are just treading lightly, building on the earth's crust, filling up room that doesn't belong to them and then complaining about the lack of space. There's plenty of space and it's beautiful. Miles and miles of empty space that humans should never, ever poison with their presence. It seemed to Dan, that if there ever was a perfect example of the sheer stupidity of human kind it was that; humans could take a world that is not theirs, claim it and then complain about its faults. He felt angry just thinking about it.

Dan brushed past a tapestry, its colours rich and red, its threads woven beautifully into an eye, its tear duct curled and its eyelash long. The ever watching eye of Horus; It was said in Greek mythology that one of Horus' eyes was the moon and the other the sun, always there, ever watching over humans. Dan stopped to look, he was late anyway. He was more than familiar with the eye of Horus, it had long since become a symbol for northern academy, a representation of the art of espionage. Ever watching. The symbolism went further than that though, the eye of Horus was long thought to have protective power. Almost like a guardian angel watching over. And Dan hoped that was what they were, as spies, that a fundamental idea of protectionism wasn't lost in the glamour and the hate. He hoped they were still a defence, helping people who needed it and hunting down those individuals who people needed protecting from. That's how he liked to think of it anyway, if he thought of it in any other kind of a way he'd probably go into a bout of existentialism. He didn't want to be a killer. Although he knew if he persisted in the field it would be more than inevitable.

Dan carried on staring at the tapestry, his psychology teacher completely slipping his mind. Tears sparked at his eyes. The longer he looked at the eye the longer he hoped that it was real. He hoped that espionage was protectionism. He leaned closer to the tapestry, squinting to get a closer look at the weave when a hand jutted out, grabbed him and pulled him inside.

A secret room. Darkness hit Dan's eyes. He felt blind. He blinked, once, twice, the picture suddenly becoming clearer. It was small, or small-ish at least, the walls shorter than the standard for Northern Academy and the only light shafting from a window at one end. Shadows filled the room, stretching their bony fingers up the walls and curling into corners.

When Dan was younger, he thought that shadows were the spirits of people who had died, their mark still left upon the earth. He thought that they followed people around because they just couldn't bear to be lonely. Because they couldn't quite believe they were dead. As a child it terrified him, to the point where it haunted him, like a real ghost hanging above his head. He didn't want a dead person following him round, he knew what dead people were like. And he didn't even know where from. He hadn't indulged in any particularly scary films or TV shows or books but somewhere, as if placed there by a clandestine being themselves were these images of zombies and ghosts and ghouls with knives dripping with blood. Steady.  
>Drip.<br>Drip.  
>Drip.<br>At night he saw it, his shadow, rising from the ground, knife in hand. During the day he tried as hard as he could to get rid of the follower, running faster than the wind itself, but it was no good. Dan shuddered with the memory. He didn't like the room. But it wasn't only the shadows that lingered there; there was a person too. Phil. But that might have been even scarier.

"Hey" Phil said, his voice strong but with a lilt of coyness, his head bowed a little lower than his usual proud self and his hands woven together. Dan wondered what had changed. "How did you find this?" he asked, after a pause. Phil tapped his nose,  
>"It found me." Dan scoffed, "What?" exclaimed Phil, a grin leaking onto his face.<br>"You're such a pretentious twat." Phil pushed him playfully and Dan hit the wall with a soft bump. Phil was freakishly strong. "Am not,"  
>"Are too."<br>"Shut the fuck up."  
>"I don't find rooms, rooms find me." Dan mocked in an overly aristocratic and high voice. Phil hit him again, spiritedly. Long pause. "Anyway, how <em>did <em>you find it?" Dan asked, but he was dismissed. "I do like it here." Phil said and Dan was forced to conclude that he would never get an answer. He felt himself nodding, it felt like the right thing to do, although in reality the room gave him the creeps.

Phil walked over to the window, sitting down on the wide ledge and glancing wistfully out. Outside the window, it was grey, the clouds coating the sky, it looked as if rain was mere seconds away from splattering the ground, like tears from above. And yet, the light seemed to hit Phil's face perfectly, catching his features, his blue eyes sparkling almost like jewels and his black hair glowing brighter than before, as if it were truly the feathers of a raven, about to take flight. Dan couldn't stop himself from looking. He was so beautiful. And not in a conventional way either, it wasn't the kind of beauty that just anyone could appreciate, he was striking, like a raven, his features mesmerising, the kind of face you had to search for to see the beauty but once you had found it, it was more than worth it, it lit up your world.

Dan walked over to the window too, sitting down next to Phil, crossing his legs to match Phil's. Both of them gazed out of the window. It started to rain, sheets and sheets pouring down and slamming into the ground. It sounded as if they were inside a rattle, the raindrops bouncing off the roof and slamming into the ground below. Phil turned to him, smiling slightly,  
>"It's so underappreciated, Rain." He pauses, his eyes looking over the ground and Dan is hung on his every word, his eyes tracing his jawline, his lips.<br>"It masks everything, it's like you're not a person anymore, you've been consumed by the mouth of nature; you've been claimed. No one looks at you, no one stares." Phil spoke slowly, as if the words were flowing straight from his mind and out of his mouth.  
>"It's as if human error is washed away. It's like a cape, shielding everyone off into their own little bubble. Like a shield, filling the entire air. There's nothing else that you can feel quite like that, nothing else that surrounds you, nothing else that pelts your skin like a constant reminder of nature's power." Phil's voice was spellbinding. It was if Dan's heart was beating in time to the rain, to Phil's words, he didn't know what to say. He had never really thought about the rain before. He had never really thought about much other than himself, like he was trapped in his own dark bubble. He suddenly felt guilty, his eyes cast to the ground.<p>

"You're rather beautiful, you know." said Phil and he was right there, their crossed legs pressed against each other's, close enough to see his eyes, close enough to see the seas that he had dreamed of floating within, those eyes that could shoot lightning bolts through Dan's body. And then he was closer, his lips upon his.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you to guest, witbeyondmeasurexox, okayintatarus, its-real-to-us and bunnyrabbit401 for reviewing; here we go!**_

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><p>Dan was foolish. He knew it. He knew it as Phil's lips had pressed upon his. He knew it as Phil's hands had snaked into his hair. He knew it as their bodies had pressed together. He knew it. But he didn't stop it. Knowing it didn't mean that he pushed Phil away. Knowledge does not always equal power. Dan knew he was foolish, but he was powerless to stop it. Because he couldn't. He couldn't help himself from going back again and again, like a moth drawn to a flame, the moth knows the danger yet it goes anyway, hypnotised by the glowing flames. Dan was the moth and Phil was the flames, flickering brightly across Dan's life, warming him and yet destroying him too, burning him in his wake until Dan was just ash, just something that used to be, just burnt, shrivelled skin.<p>

Phil was intriguing, in fact he was more than intriguing, he was fascinating, like a painting that Dan could stare at all day, like a book full of words for Dan to engorge. The flames flickering brighter. And every time Dan saw him, his chest twisted a little, his heart beat a little wilder, his mind raced a little faster.

Phil had been gone, then he had been there, then he had been gone again. The day in the room had been perfect, the rain beating, lips moving and he had stayed and they had talked, and Phil had made him feel better about himself, he had stroked his cheek and called him beautiful, he had listened, his eyes sparkling and his hand intertwined with Dan's, their fingers knotting together. And that was all Dan had ever wanted.

But then the darkness had come, bleeding into the sky and the academy's lights had switched on, just as the ones in Phil's eyes had gone out. He needed to leave. Dan remembered. He had left, stepping backwards, concern in his eyes, flashing a quick smile before disappearing behind the tapestry. Dan hadn't seen him again all day. Dan's first thought was stupid, his overactive imaginations whirring through films and stereotypes that had been absorbed there. Maybe he was a werewolf, maybe he turned every night and needed to get away, or maybe he was a vampire in reverse, maybe he couldn't see the moon. Dan didn't know. But what he did know was that when Phil left he felt empty. He never wanted him to leave again, he wanted him to be by his side, and he wanted his hand in his. He had quickly fallen into a rabbit hole of dependence and trust.

Phil had returned, of course, to go to bed. But it had been late, it had been after lights out. The door had creaked slightly, a slither of light slinking in, he had walked slowly but purposefully, his footsteps heavy and loud, as if he didn't care. And maybe he didn't. The bed had groaned and his shoes had been kicked off and then he had gone to sleep. Simple as that.

The next day he had been all smiles, all sarcasm, all wit, like he usually was. He had held Dan's hand and kissed his cheek, and sat next to him and joked around whilst he fed him strawberries. And Dan couldn't help the flood of happiness that flushed through him. But it had come with something else, a small feeling in his stomach, floating amongst the happiness; there was a little boat of uneasiness.

"So" Mr Cal boomed, his voice bouncing off walls and echoing round corners.

"Today it actually gets tough"

Dan raised his eyebrows, Phil's upper arm pressed against him, this is how he liked it, he liked them to be together, fitting together, it felt right. He wanted to take Phil's hand, to rub his thumb along the back of his hand and convince himself that everything was going to be okay. But he didn't dare. It wasn't that Mr Cal was a homophobe, just a general relationship phobe, he wouldn't have it in his class. And Dan didn't want that look of disappointment to fall upon him.

"Today we are going on an actual mission"

"What do you mean?" piped up Benjamin, and Dan actually felt a wave of sympathy wash over him. Some people laughed, each titter blowing red across Ben's cheeks.

"It means, Benjamin, that we are going on an actual mission." He paused, as if considering whether or not to say more.

"We have set up an opposition, and a hideout, and they have something that we want you to get back." He paused, his left cheek lifting up into a smirk. "Now come on." Benjamin gulped, and Dan didn't half blame him, he was terrified himself. He grabbed onto Phil's hand and Phil squeezed it, throwing him a smile.

They walked in perfect order, no one speaking, no one daring to utter a word. Down corridor after corridor, past the artefacts and displays that made up a part of Dan's childhood, past 'the room', past the head office and out towards the front doors. The stupendous front doors, mighty and arching, like the ones which provided the bridge for the moat in medieval England. Dan was thankful that there was no moat anymore, just a mountainous castle that he called home.

Except there was something different about the grounds today, upon the usual dew-sparkled grass stood something that was not dew-sparkled, nor was it natural in any kind of way, its structure thick and metallic, with a colour to match. A helicopter.

The students seemed to hesitate a little, the line knocking into each other like deficient dominoes.

"What are you waiting for?" Mr Cal shouted, his voice gruff but he failed to hide the smirk in it. He enjoyed this, he got a kick out of seeing his students so scared, so bewildered, so confuddled. Dan guessed it was part of the job requirement. In order to teach kids practical espionage, you had to enjoy watching them suffer at least a little, if you didn't, you were probably in the wrong field.

Dan grabbed the helicopter's metal railing, swinging himself onto the small step ladder. He felt someone push him from behind. Phil. Phil was pushing him up, his hand placed firmly onto his rear. Dan couldn't help himself from blushing. It was Phil. He didn't know why his body seemed to have such a strong reaction to him.

Dan cast his eyes upwards, looking into the dim room. Ivan was there. Dan's body had a physical reaction to him too, but not in the same way, not even nearly in the same way. He hated Ivan. Hated him with every bone, every nerve, even bit of strength that he could muster. He couldn't set eyes upon his face, his foul half smirk, without feeling anger bubble within him. Ivan. His parents got that right at least. Ivan the fucking terrible.

Ivan laughed, his almost white eyes growing smaller and closer. It was the kind of laugh of dictators to their peasants, the kind of intimidating, I-know-I'm-above-you kind of laugh.

"Got yourself a boyfriend then have you, Howell?" he spat, nudging the boy at the side of him in the ribs, as if prompting him to laugh. Dan couldn't remember the other boy's name but it was something equally as ostentatious.

Phil's arm coiled around Dan's shoulder and he leant down to kiss his cheek, his lips warm and soft and protective.

"As a matter of fact he has."

Dan only blushed, trying to hide his face within Phil's neck. He was sure he was now a brighter shade of red than the tomatoes which he knew grew round the back of the academy.

"Oh yeah and who are you?" Ivan sneered.

"None of your fucking business." Phil snarled. Ivan seemed to shrink back a little and a small gasp echoed around the small seating area. Swearing was not a common thing at Northern. Most of the boys had never been a part of modern day society, most of them had spent their lives ensnared within the walls of the castle.

"Faggot." Ivan scoffed and Phil seemed to grow twice his size, his arm unwinding from where it hung around Dan's neck and his shoulders puffing out as he walked slowly towards Ivan, easily a head taller, his body towering above, casting a shadow down across the pale moon of Ivan's face.

"What did you say?"

"Phil." Dan warned, but he didn't seem to hear.

"Nothing, nothing." Ivan squeaked, and it would have been comical, had it not been so fucking scary.

"I said." Phil said, his voice raising and quavering slightly, "What did you fucking say?" And then Phil raised his hand, Ivan cowering like a puppy, completely at the mercy of him.

"Phil!" Dan shouted, louder this time, but the words did not reach his ears.

"Phil!"

Phil was angry, he was more than angry, his eyes mostly white, the blue sky gone, veins sticking from his neck, his face stiffened and teeth almost baring, like a dog ready to fight. He moved his hand so it was pressing upon Ivan's neck.

"Ready to go?" came a voice, a voice of reason, a voice of calm. Mr Cal turned the corner, his face going from pleased to shock in a few seconds.

"What in god's name is going on here?"

Everyone whipped around, shuffling back from the scene of the crime. But Phil didn't let go. In fact, if anything he squeezed harder, Ivan's face turning a rather disturbing shade of red as he tried to capture air from the surroundings.

"PHILIP LESTER." Mr Cal shouted. But Phil still didn't let go, his eyes wholly focused on Ivan, and the light that was draining from them.

And then Mr Cal moved, darting and parting the sea of students. He slammed his hand down firmly onto Phil's shoulders, pulling at his collar bones and prising him from his grip on Ivan. And Dan saw something in Mr Cal's eyes, something which he had never seen there before; fear.

Ivan slumped back down onto the seat, his hands going to his neck and a group of students surrounding him. But Mr Cal wasn't focused on him, as everyone else swarmed, he slammed Phil against the wall, staring straight into his eyes. Phil was breathing heavily, his fists clenched, his jaw set. But he was calming down, his face was beginning to relax a little, and his eyes began to show something else. Regret? Compassion? Dan was unsure.

Mr Cal turned to leave, never once dropping his hand from where it rested on Phil's shoulder, leading him down the steps and back towards the castle doors. Dan made to follow, his feet moving towards the exit.

"Howell. Stay." Mr Cal growled, without even turning around.

Dan looked back, Ivan was crying.

And Dan did stay, standing up until his legs hurt, and then sliding down the helicopter wall and onto the floor, the only background Ivan's tears, and his endless thoughts. Dan had his head in his hands, but no one seemed to notice, not Enzo, not anyone. In fact Dan didn't even know where Enzo was. He hadn't seen him since that morning. Guilt stabbed at his chest. He had been so wound up in Phil, he hadn't even noticed. He had picked Phil over Enzo. Phil who was temperamental, Phil who was violent, Phil who could leave without noticing, Phil who he loved. Wait. Phil who he loved? Dan wanted to cry even more. Phil who he loved. Of. Fucking. Course. Phil who he loved and Phil who was hurting him, who was confusing him, Phil who could make him feel like the happiest person in the world, Phil who could make him feel like the saddest person in the world. Phil.

Dan threw his head into his hands. He was so melodramatic. He was overthinking it. He had known Phil less than a month for fucks sake. Of course he wasn't in love. Dan hated himself. Why was he so melodramatic? Phil had pressed his hand against Ivan's neck and now he was violent? Ivan the terrible. Ivan who taunted him and tormented him. Ivan the homophobe, Ivan the stuck up twat. Phil ran off quickly once and suddenly he didn't care? Phil kissed him and now he was in love? Melodramatic twat. Dan almost laughed, it was almost funny. Of course Phil wasn't violent, of course he cared and of course Dan wasn't in love. Dan repeated himself over and over. Of course not. Of course not. It became a mantra, it matched his beating heart, like a march. He repeated it until he almost believed it.

The time passed and Dan could see the light fading a little. And yet no one had moved, no one dared to ignore orders by a teacher. Fifteen boys, slumped in a stationary helicopter, long since having ran out of things to say, long since having stopped crying. But the marks were still on Ivan's neck. Dan could see them, red and angry as if they were screaming. Phil is violent. Shut the fuck up. Dan wanted to scream. Phil wasn't violent, Phil fed him strawberries and talked about the rain and kissed his neck. Besides they were all a little violent. They were trained in how to kill a man for god's sake. Dan didn't know if Phil was violent and he didn't know if he loved him. But he did know he was confused. He was losing hope.

A person appeared on the horizon.

Fifteen boys head's snapped, turning towards the person like a sunflower towards the sun. Or people, one should say. For two people were arriving. Walking closely but not touching. And one of them had black hair that was shining in the dying light. And one of them was Phil.

Everyone packed in and the helicopter set off, forcing the grass back and swaying the trees. Whirring filled the previous silence and covered up Dan's thoughts. And for that he was glad. Phil sat next to Dan, but not right next to him. Not the way Dan liked it. Although he didn't know whether he would like it now. Ivan sat at the other end of the sofa bench and yet he had still shuffled away when Phil had walked in, he had still pressed his back against the helicopter wall. Phil had flicked his eyes to Ivan's neck, to the swollen red marks, and then back up, like a vampire considering whether or not to feast. He sat down, choosing not to. He said nothing.

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><p><strong><em>Thank you for reading. <em>  
><strong>

**_For anyone who reads sharpest lives; I'm so so sorry it's so late but I have been so busy and idk it is coming though I swear I just felt like I rushed the last chapter a bit and I don't want to do that again, so I'm taking my time but I am sorry it is coming I swear don't give up on me!_**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Yes this is early. Yay. Thanks to its-real-to-us and witbeyondmeasurexox for reading :) Trigger warnings: Violence, abuse, swearing, pain etc.**_

_**And on that note.. hope you enjoy.**_

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><p>Blindfolds were handed out, and headphones too, to block out sight and noise. They didn't want them to know where they were going. And to a degree Dan didn't want to know where he was going. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to know anything ever again. And yet there was an instinct washing over him, an instinct stronger than the fear, an instinct to try and find Phil's hand and hold it in the darkness. Because Phil had looked powerful, yes, he had looked pretentious and commanding when he had come through that door. But that was just a façade, Dan could see that. Beneath that layer, beneath the hard-willed eyes, and set jaw, Dan could see a vulnerable boy; the slight weakness in his stance, the slight shaking of his hands. And Dan's stomach twisted just thinking about it. Whether it was love or not. Dan wasn't going to label it. But he cared, he knew that much.<p>

The helicopter was flying high now, floating like a cloud or like a feather on the ocean, soft and lulling, small and insignificant. Dan felt his eyes begin to droop behind the blindfold. The dark sight fooling him into thinking it was time for sleep. Slowly his eyes shut and his body relaxed into the leather seat.

He woke not with a noise or a bump but with a jolt. The helicopter was landing, the slow and steady flying becoming faster, his stomach flying too with the sudden dropping. He tried to sit up, but there was an arm around him. His head was on someone's chest. It was Phil. Or at least it smelled like Phil, the scent of oak and mud masked with his aftershave of pear, and something else, flowers of some kind, maybe moringa or honeysuckle.

Dan was tempted to move, still not knowing how he felt, but mostly because he thought his classmates might judge him for cuddling into the boy who almost killed Ivan. Dan snuggled in again, feeling Phil's arm cuddle him in tighter, he decided that he didn't care, he was a spy for god's sake, he could murder them all with a clothes hanger and a hair pin. Besides, they were all wearing blindfolds.

The helicopter landed with a thud, and the doors swung open and the shouting began.

"Come on!" said a voice, and it was _not _Mr Cal's.

"Hurry up!"

"Do you want to die?"

Dan heard people stumbling around and he lifted himself from Phil. What did he do? Could he take off his blindfold? Could he leave the helicopter? He ripped the piece of cloth from around his eyes, the light burning into his corneas. He shut them immediately.

There was a hand upon his shoulder, shaking him violently. But it was not Phil's and frankly it was not any of the boys, the hand was too big. He opened his eyes and there was a face right in front of his, its features sharpened and cruel, its nose big, almost pressed against Dan's own. The man snarled.

"Put your fucking blindfold back on."

Dan was scared, really fucking scared. He got a basic look at his surroundings, the rest of the people had disappeared from the helicopter and he was all alone, with a man he didn't know. He tried to tie the blindfold back onto his face, but his hands were trembling and he couldn't do it. He wanted to cry. He wanted Phil, or Enzo, or Mr Cal, or his parents, or anyone, he wanted anyone but the man. The man growled again, grabbing hold of the blindfold and spinning Dan around, pushing it fiercely against Dan's face and tying it so tight that it dug into Dan's eyes. Dan felt his eyes water up, leaking into the fabric. No. He yelled at himself. He had to be tough. He was a motherfucking spy. How was he supposed to survive in the real world if he couldn't even do a simple school challenge?

He tried to walk forward but the man stopped him. And then he felt someone grab his shoulders. Another pair of hands grabbing his ankles. And then they were moving. Gone.

And Dan didn't know where they were going. And he didn't know what was happening. And the world was darkness. And the movement was fast and it was jagged, and that time he let the tears flow because if there was ever a time to cry, surely kidnapping would be the ideal time? Or screaming. Screaming would be a better idea. He opened up his mouth, letting a scream ripple through his lips. But he was soon silenced, a grubby hand placed over his mouth and a small punch to the stomach. He said small. It still hurt. It still hurt like a small plant was growing inside of his stomach, its branches spreading out and digging into the lining, pain stretching from the centre throughout. Dan was silenced.

He was thrown, and he winced, expecting the landing to be hard, expecting it to be hard concrete or stone, he expected his back to cave, his legs to bash against the floor, his flesh to bend and bruise as he hit the ground. But none of that happened. Upon landing, he bounced back up again. He wanted to cry out, but his throat was dry from crying, his muscles sore from screaming. He threw his hands down, regaining his balance. His hands felt around. Springs? That's what it felt like. Covered in something soft and malleable. Dan's best bet was a bed, not a premier bed, with a goose filled pillow and a memory foam mattress but rather a camp bed. And Dan was betting that a fair few of the springs were broken. With weary arms he tried to untie his blindfold, his hands fumbling and slipping on the thick fabric.

"NO!" cut a voice through the darkness and Dan jumped a little. So he's wasn't alone. Great. Fucking great. What was he supposed to do? Find his way out blindfolded, with someone watching him not knowing when they disappeared?

Dan lent back against the concrete wall, feeling like an utter failure. He was a spy. He came from a lineage of spies and yet he had given up on a school task already. _A school task._ How was he supposed to survive with real field work?

Both tears and shame filled him, he was stressed, and anxious, and confused, and in pain, and he felt like a failure. Scratch that; he was a failure.

The wall was hard against his head. And something was dripping, falling onto his face and splashing onto his skin. But Dan didn't have the energy to move. He was drained. Physically, yes. But emotionally too, and when you are emotionally exhausted, it's so much worse because it's as if your soul has been sucked from you and now you are just a vessel, rolling around on a rock in outer space. Which could all essentially just be a big lie anyway. Shut up. Dan yelled at himself. He had no time for conspiracy theories. He had to work out where he was.

The bed and the throwing would indicate a prison cell, as would the hard walls but he had not actually felt bars. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to get up. He didn't think he could physically muster enough energy to move a finger let alone his entire body. He let his head roll across the wall, feeling his hair stick to it. God knows what was on those walls. Are you going to give up? No. Yes. No. Yes. He felt as if he had two people inside of his head each one screaming something different. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to fucking sleep. In fact, he could feel his eyes lulling shut, his head falling towards the mattress. No. No! NO! He would not let himself fall asleep. He couldn't let himself fall asleep. His team were depending on him. Or he guessed. He didn't know. He didn't fucking know anything. His eyes were shutting. They were shutting. NO. The blackness was coming, wading through the room like a sea, the tide coming in but never going out. There were no shadows, no reflections, just a thick black ooze. And it was edging closer, the sea approaching the bed, crawling up the bed post. Dan could see himself screaming as if in third person, his mouth open wide, his eyes screwed shut, his hands clamped over his face. And then it was black. And he was falling. And he couldn't wake up. He couldn't wake up. He couldn't wake up.

"Dan!" Where was he?

"Dan!" the voice sounded again.

"Dan!" and then the shaking began, what was happening, was there an earthquake, a volcano, a tsunami?

"Dan!" What was happening? Everything was black.

"Dan!" he needed to get to the voice.

"Dan!" he began to stumble, something was holding him back, something had a firm grasp on his arm, nails digging into his skin. He tried to shake himself free.

"Dan! Dan! Stop!" Stop? The voice was asking him to stop? Was it God, was God real, was God here to save his darkened soul?

"God?!" Laughter. Dark. Rich. Laughter.

"Almost."

"Who are you?"

"Open your eyes doofus." And he finds that he can, he finds that he can see the light if he tries. He opens his eyes. Bright. Burn. He closes them again. "Is the light too bright?" the voice says, and he feel arms wrap around him. And the voice, of course, is Phil's, the arms too. Dan hugs him back.

His mouth is by his ear and his tears are on his face. Tears? Is he crying? Dan takes a step back, opening his eyes, squinting but surviving. His face is tear-stained, his eyes inflamed, and his smile weak.

"You're crying?"

"Fuck off."

"You're actually crying? Big Mr Philip Lester? Mr Phil I'll-strangle-you-in-your-sleep Lester?"

"I said Fuck off." He said, pushing Dan against the wall, but not viciously. Dan was not Ivan. And Phil was not Phil. Not the Phil from the helicopter. Phil was Phil again. Phil from the room, Phil with the strawberries and the pancakes. And then Dan is pinned against the wall, Phil's hands pressed firmly against his shoulder blades and Dan is laughing and Phil is laughing. And Phil is pretty, so very pretty, his eyes sparkling with tears, his hair brighter than the night itself. And Dan forces his lips upon Phil's, feeling his tongue slide into his mouth, and then he is crying too and he is trying to kiss away the pain. Not the bruises, not the cuts, they don't cause him any pain, not compared to this. Not compared to the image of Phil. Phil leaving. Phil refusing to look him in the eye. The flicker of fire in Phil's eye. Phil's hand gripped around Ivan's throat. And Phil is running his hands through Dan's hair. The very hands that were around Ivan's throat. The very same hands. Dan feels sick but he doesn't want it to stop and Phil lifts him up, lifting him onto the bed, curling his knees around his stomach as he kisses him. Still. And Dan wants to run his hands over Phil's body. And Dan can't stop. Phil pulls away and Dan breathes.

"We better go save them then." Phil says with a smile.

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><p><em><strong>Thank you for reading and please review! THIS IS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!<strong>_


	7. Final Part

_**This is the final part! Thank you to its-real-to-us for reviewing the last chapter! **_

_**Trigger Warnings: (SPOILERS SPOILERS AVERT EYES IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED: Blood, violence, pain, abuse, character death)**_

_**Here we go;**_

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><p>Bruises. Bruises and scars. That is all he has left of that day. And distinct memories, both distinct and distant. It seems to Dan as if he could reach out and touch them, but once he does it's too far, always too far, he reaches his arm out and then he is toppling, falling short of the mark, always short of the mark. He remembers rough kisses and rough hits, dark skies and darker expressions, blackness and whiteness, skin upon skin, fist upon stomach, mouth upon mouth, head upon wall, drip, drip, drip and greyness. Overwhelming greyness like being thrust into a concrete wall, like fog, like smoke, surrounding him, enticing him. No clarity. Never clarity. Only nightmares.<p>

He wakes up in a sweat once more, the ghost of his cry still echoing around the room. He grips his duvet, his fingers digging into the soft material. He doesn't have time to think about how weak he is. How it was a challenge. A _school _challenge. How he should drop out of Northern and join the circus. That maybe there his freakish amount of fear would be welcomed. He doesn't have time to think, because there is a face hanging above his bed.

He wants to scream. He wants to scream again but a hand covers his mouth, colder than air, more real than the receding fog.

"Sssh Sssh, you'll wake the whole house up." Comes a drawl. Phil. Of course. He relaxes a little.

There's no other way to describe Phil's voice other than a drawl, other than just endless stretching of the vowels, no sounds hitching, no peaks and no bases. Constant like a snake, slithering through the grass, its mucous body moving from side to side but never jolting, sliding through the reeds as if with no effort at all.

The duvet lifts up and Phil's arms are around Dan, his fingers curling around his back. Dan slowly allows himself to settle into Phil's arms, his shaking steadying until he's perfectly still, and staring into Phil's closed eyes. And it's the closest he's ever been to his face with his eyes open. Phil's eyelashes flutter, long and black, his face is gentler in slumber, his pale skin like the dusting of snow on a winter's morning, glowing in the moonlight, and his lips are chapped, ridges born into them as if he had cut at them with a knife, so full of beauty, so full of violence. Dan's lips creep towards Phil's skin, his lips pressing delicately upon his cheek, and it is as soft as it looks, like touching a cloud, but without falling, instead feeling more complete, more secure, and more solid. Phil's eyes open a little and he laughs, kissing Dan's lips.

"Sleepy time." He says

"Sleepy time?"

"Yes, time for sleep." He says, and he nuzzles into Dan's neck. And Dan shuts his eyes. And so he doesn't see, he doesn't see Phil open his eyes again, he doesn't see the glint of malice, the slight flickering of fire, the twisting of the mouth in the shaft of the moon. He doesn't see it. But then again, he never has.

Dan rolls into emptiness, his hands reaching out for a boy who isn't there, the only arms that surround Dan are those of the duvet, just a cooling dent where Phil lay last night. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe Dan is still suffering from whatever drug they used to knock him out, he didn't want to think about it. Haze and confusion. He didn't like it at all.

Dan pulled on his sock, a feeling of unease beginning to settle over him like a cloud. Where was it that Phil always disappeared to? He threw his blazer onto his shoulders, shuffling without thought to the hall, his feet mapping his way for him, as if they were designed, as if they contained gps software. Which they kind of did. Knowing which way to go is a feature of the most advanced computer to date, so advanced in fact that in 200,000 years people still haven't worked it out. And it puzzles Dan to think that in his long life that stretches before him, too far for him to even see, the horizon blurry, the path paved but not yet worn, in that whole time, he will probably never understand what's inside his brain, it'll be trapped inside his head for a lifetime and yet he'll never understand it.

Dan walks straight into the hall door, his face catapulting off the smooth oak and his back hitting in the floor with a thump. Pain. Laughter. Laughter and Pain. His brain had been too busy thinking about his brain that it had forgotten about his body.

Outside it is turning to winter, the leaves growing darker before curling and falling from the branches. The trees growing bare, left all alone through the harsh winter months. It's the time of year where rain is permanent, lashing or drizzling, storming or hailing; ever present. The time of year where if you didn't moan about the weather at least once, you're doing life wrong. But Dan finds the rain comforting, the sound of it on the rooftop like an endless companion, reminding you that you are never alone in the world. And now it also makes him smile for different reasons, it reminds him of the _their_ room, of secrets that hang in the air, and of lips that are able to touch, of both a heartbeat and a rainfall banging into Dan's ears as the word got both louder and quieter, life screaming in his ear, but love whispering in the other.

Sometimes Dan gets lost in the weather, in the outside world, the voice in the room slipping completely from his world, as the rain continues to lash. And that's when thoughts come into his head, and that's when plans come into his head. He would go to the secret room, that's where he would go, he would go and he would hear the rain upon the roof, and he would feel it pounding through his ears. And he would let the happiness fill him up like helium being pumped into a balloon, and he would float, and he would fly, high into the sky. And maybe Phil would be there. No. No. No. No. You don't need him, he yelled at himself. You don't need him. You will be far stronger with him gone. For Dan knows better than anyone how dangerous it is to have a weak spot, to have even a faded thin section of your blanket of protection, let alone a jagged cut, which what Phil was becoming.

But he doesn't care. He knows his blanket is tearing into two, each thread snapping with the sound of all the world, all that he has built up thrown onto the fire, as he watches, the flames licking and burning. And thick, black smoke is billowing but no one is coming. No one is coming to save him. But he doesn't care because he is skipping around, his bare feet slamming into the mud and shouting and singing and dancing as the flames lick higher and higher. Because what's the point in living life in safety? Never straying further from the house in which you were born, never leaving the comfort of the warmth, the bubble whose walls get thicker every day? His protection may be gone but he still has Phil and that is enough. He believes Phil is enough. And he believes that he is enough for Phil.

The bell rings and chairs scrape and Dan is jetting down the hall before he knows it, artefacts a blur, students just a crowd through which to push, his school, his home, just the journeying place, not the destination. And maybe if he had known, he would have slowed down, and he would have gazed upon his home, and he would have let his eyes drift over the very displays that make up his home. Or maybe he would have turned around, and gone back to the classroom, gone to find Enzo. But it would have been no good. His fate had been sealed the moment that Phil's lips had curled into that smile.

And so Dan walks, and he brushes aside the tapestry, feeling the weave push against the palm of his hand, but it isn't soft like before, and it isn't welcoming, it feels jagged and itchy and rough, as if it is pushing him away. And it is dark inside the room, shadows throwing themselves around the room, but some light filters from the window, grey light, but light all the same. And Phil is there and his side is pressed against the wall, and Dan can see the reflection of the rain in his clear blue eyes, and Dan can see his cheekbones taunt and his jaw set and his black hair slightly more rugged than usual, as if he has been running his hands through it. Dan takes a step forward, feeling unexplainable fear. He doesn't know why but he feels it, he feels it gripping at his chest and twisting as if he is a piece of clothing to be wrung out.

Phil slowly turns and Dan doesn't know what it is but something is different, the softness of his face has fallen to be replaced with a rock-like hardness, the kind of stern and angry expression that only comes with the chiselling of stone, that is only seen on statues, and yet here it is, in human form, and its eyes are boring into Dan. Eyes which Dan can see have been crying, water spilling and running down their rock waterfall, leaving their source dry and red. The tears don't make him look human, don't reveal his human fragility, but rather the opposite. He looks rigid and unmoving, as if possessed by a greater power.

"Phil?" Dan says, his voice quivering, but he stands his ground. He doesn't believe that Phil could ever hurt him. Phil would never hurt him.

"Yes Dan?" And his voice is human sounding, it bends in all the right places, and to anyone else but Dan it would sound perfectly normal. Except it isn't anyone else, it's Dan that is standing before him and that is not Phil's voice.

"What's going on?" And he knows that the question is stupid as soon as the words escape his lips, the wisps flying through the air before Dan can grab them. And Phil throws his head back and he laughs, a rich laugh, but it lacks warmth, something hearty and throaty without the heart, something as cold as Phil's glazed over eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know, my Danny Boy?" he says as he walks closer. And Dan wants to run, and every single hair on his body is screaming for him to run, to hurtle through the tapestry and into the hallway to cry wolf and wolf and wolf again. Because that is what Phil is. He can see it now, he's a wolf hiding amongst the sheep, a snake amongst the grass, a lynx amongst the deer. But Dan does not run. His feet are the floor and the floor is his feet. He cannot move. And he will not. Phil would never hurt him, he tells himself again. But this time the voice is feebler, weaker, fading from existence.

Phil takes a step towards him, hooking a finger under his chin and Dan shivers. Phil's finger is icy cold. The wolf stands before him.

"I listened to your petty problems, I wrapped my arms around you, I felt your lips upon my own, and I whispered those words, I whispered them time in and time out. And each time they disgusted me. You disgusted me, Daniel Howell. You _disgust_ me."

"No. You're lying." Dan shouts, but Phil only laughs, and Dan feels his breath upon his cheek, but it isn't warm and it isn't pleasant, it's as cold as the winter air, and twice as bitter.

"Poor, poor, foolish Daniel. Did you really think I loved you?"

And tears fall down Dan's cheeks, hitting the dark floor, masked by the sound of rainfall as he is silent in his struggle.

"I guess I played my part well then. Maybe I should be an actor huh?" he says, his hands gripping tighter onto Dan's chin. "Be Brad Pitt hey? Or maybe someone classier, maybe I'll be Leo, or Johnny Depp, hell I could be anyone I want." He pauses, "I certainly have the body for it, isn't that right Daniel?"

Dan feels bile climb up his throat, slippery and scorching, like the tears that burn lies into his eyelids, as he remembers what it felt like to have Phil's hands upon him, to see Phil completely, and to feel him there, to run his hands and lips over his skin. He shakes, every muscle convulsing in disgust. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies encircle him worse than the fear and the world is tilting and the room becomes filled with the smoke of lies, the echo of Phil's lies bouncing off the walls and into Dan's ears, piercing his eardrums as screams will not come and time ticks on and Phil is still there.

"Tell me Daniel" he says, his voice luring and slurring, and slippery as the snake that he has revealed himself to be. "What do you think I am?"

But Dan didn't move, his face growing redder, his tears boiling inside of his own eyes.

"Too dumb to work it out? Thought so, easy case really, easy case indeed. Easier than the last one, my god did he not want to go." Phil pauses, "Nothing? My god, easy, too easy, almost not worth it." He sighs, rolling his eyes in disappointment, "Your father did our team great wrong. Great and terrible wrong, wrong in the name of right but wrong all the same. And let me tell you, revenge? Revenge is my speciality." And with that, he leans forwards, shoving his lips against a squirming Dan as Dan tries to catch breaths that won't come and will never come again as the cold blade pierces through his spine, breaking through vessels and blood and straight into his beating heart, his screams filling the whole room. And he falls to the floor, pain raging through his dying body, blood that is black radiating onto the floor, mixing with the dust and dead skin until Dan is choking on the stench. And Phil laughs again, pulling the knife swiftly out.

"I'm going to take this," he says, turning the knife over in his blood coated hands "you don't mind do you? Quite a favourite of mine. Wouldn't want to see it go."

Phil turns to go, his steps slow and deliberate, his silhouette black against the shadow from the setting sun, his head high and laughter on his lips, the haunting last sound to echo through Dan's ears and Dan splutters one last proclamation, one last statement of hope, "You…. Loved… Me." And Phil can see in Dan's eyes the pain that it is causing him to utter those words, the fire that is radiating through his body, the fire that Phil threw him onto, the fire that he used to dance around, the same fire on which he threw his protection, on which he stripped himself bare, to lie burning, watching the flames reflected into the mud he used to feel his feet slap into.

Phil laughs, "Let me tell you now, Daniel Howell; no one will ever love you." And with that he was gone, fingers twisting the latch and feet jumping into the sheet of rain.

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><p><em><strong>Thank you for reading (yes this had been planned since before the start, yes I'm kind of sorry) if you want you can review or not whatever you like<strong>_


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